Homing Pigeon
by LickleSoxy
Summary: Arrogantly, Michael had assumed he would already know everything that would come out of the angel's mouth when she came back from spying on the pagans for him.


**A/N: **Fourth story in a series I'm doing about Gabriel and Lucifer, but this concerns Michael and his reactions to the events that have happened in the previous parts to the series.

Previous stories do not need to be read for this story to be understood. First story in the series is _On Display for None to See_, the second story is _Uncle, or Any Variation Thereof_, the third story is _My Check to Your Mate_.

**Spoilers: **05x19 (Hammer of the Gods)

**-o-**

**Homing Pigeon**

There was but one truth Michael knew to be fact: he was completely useless. Forget the reality of him being an archangel, or the assumption that he was supposed to be the most powerful of his brothers, because that was pointless information right now. It didn't matter, wasn't helpful in the slightest, and couldn't change the fact that he'd failed at something that, up until a few hours ago, he hadn't realised he'd needed to succeed in.

Having no knowledge of what he now understood was required of him to do was not an excuse, was not acceptable to be used as a way of taking away the responsibility he had been given. Being the eldest among his siblings, it was he who had to take the blame. It was his fault.

Suspicions, obviously, had been aroused the second he'd realised the pagans had decided to come together for some sort of meeting. Michael wasn't an idiot, and understood that the discussions would certainly be about what was currently happening with Heaven and Hell, and what effects it would bring to Earth and the people living on it. Out of sheer curiosity he had sent an angel to the hotel they were all meeting at, just to see if they posed any threat to either the archangels or their home. If things had gone wrong and she had been spotted, he could have easily played innocent, shunning all knowledge of knowing she had been present at their little get together. Expendable wasn't a word Michael particularly liked, but it was fitting enough to describe the angel he'd ordered to act as a spy.

Arrogantly, Michael had assumed he would already know everything that would come out of the angel's mouth when she came back from spying on the pagans for him. The problem he had now was the fact that the _actual_ news relayed back to him upon her return had _not_ been expected.

Contrary to popular belief, angels could cry. In fact, they were capable of _weeping_, if something truly upset them. Though, it took quite a lot to force that reaction from even the most emotional of the angels. Right now, Michael wasn't at all shocked to see tears in the angel's eyes. She hadn't broken down, wasn't sobbing hysterically, but moisture was trailing a path down her face as she stared at him helplessly, waiting for him to suggest any kind of action to fix what had been done.

The thing was, Michael had no clue as to what he could do to remove the horrible actions that had taken place right under his nose. In a way, he knew that, if he hadn't been a coward and sent someone else to do his spying for him, they wouldn't be in this situation. Michael was the most powerful, the eldest of the archangels; he could have prevented his brother's death, could have done something, _anything_ to change what had happened. But, due to his own stupidity and smug assumption, Gabriel was now dead.

Michael blinked.

His brother was _dead_.

Taking in a deep breath, trying to even out the suddenly erratic beat of his heart, Michael closed his eyes and pursed his lips. This was wrong on far too many levels. Uselessness was not a feeling he should have, and devastation was an emotion he should never have to experience. Yet, he was feeling them both in this moment in time, and really, it was his own fault.

Sure, he could blame Lucifer. Lucifer was older than Gabriel, was capable of using means other than violence to halt any threats the youngest archangels could make. He could easily blame Gabriel, too. Gabriel was intelligent, knew he wouldn't stand a chance against Lucifer, so he could have simply just avoided making any contact with Lucifer. Irrationally, Michael understood that the pagans could hold the blame, also, because it was their meeting that had drew the attention of both brothers.

In the end, though, Michael only had himself to put the whole blame on. He should have _known_. The meeting had drawn in his own attention, made him take action, so of _course_ Lucifer and Gabriel would take notice of it in the exact same way. Lucifer and Gabriel - _especially_ Gabriel - were two beings with endless curiosity, and hearing of a group of gods taking it upon themselves to have a secret get together simply could _not _have done anything other than brought both archangels to the hotel to see what was going on. Yes, the pagans weren't dangerous to either of the archangels, but the sheer fact was, Michael should have had the knowledge in his mind to know that, at the very least, Gabriel would have turned up to the event. Even though Gabriel was very capable of looking after himself, and hadn't been seen by anyone from Heaven in too long a period of time, that knowledge of his curiosity should have made Michael go to the hotel to make sure nothing went wrong.

For some reason, unknown even to Michael, he had not gone, and instead had opted for a childish game of spying. And the result of that was a dead archangel.

It was ridiculous.

"Michael?"

Eyes snapping open once more, Michael's attention was momentarily drawn to the angel still standing in front of him. Her features were twisted in sorrow and confusion, and her entire posture screamed of her current vulnerability. She didn't just look hopeless, she felt it too. It was disgusting, something Michael loathed; it was like a contagion. He was tired of these hideous emotions, the pathetic touch of sadness and self-hatred coursing through his form.

"What?" he barked, and took tiny satisfaction from the flinch she did in reaction to his tone.

Before he could speak another word, or take action of a more violent nature, the angel spread her wings hastily and made a rapid retreat from the vicinity. Not bothering to watch her fly away, not caring to stop her, Michael lowered his head and allowed a sneer to form on his face.

It shouldn't be any different. He hadn't seen Gabriel in centuries. In truth, Michael hadn't even known if Gabriel had actually been alive or not. Michael sighed. That was a lie; he knew Gabriel had been alive and well. How could he not have known? Sure, he hadn't been able to find his brother, had not seen even a trace of Gabriel in a very long time, but there had always been the little niggling message in the back of his mind that had just accepted Gabriel's existence as fact.

Now, though, that message couldn't be made. It was a fabrication; Gabriel had been killed, and he was not coming back. Father wouldn't bring him back - not out of a lack of love, but due to sheer absence. Father was long gone, had probably forgotten about them all, even if Michael didn't want to accept it. He could have hope, but it was dying slowly.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Michael spun on the spot and brought his gaze back up. Staring out across the expanse of the many Heavens that the humans had, Michael had to bite back an angry curse. In reality, things had changed, yet no one would know it. No one would care, because no one but Michael, Lucifer and that angel would gain the knowledge of Gabriel's death. He would make sure of it, in time.

Honestly, it wasn't fair. All the angels, and Raphael, would have the luxury of thinking Gabriel was still in hiding. Michael didn't have that, wasn't allowed it. It was not fair.

Lifting his head, stretching out his wings ready to take flight, Michael revelled in the minuscule amount of cold that swept over his form from the breeze the movement caused. It was relaxing in a way, and quite nice. Lasting only a moment, the coolness disappeared, leaving an uncomfortable heat at the base of his wings that travelled all the way around his torso and up his neck. Michael had never liked warmth. It was confining, unsettling. He preferred the cold wind blowing in his face during flight, or the startling ice touch of either of his brothers.

Swallowing back the sudden desire to cry, Michael licked his lips and took off in no particular direction. He didn't care where he ended up, as long as it was a distraction. That was all he needed right now.

**-o-**


End file.
